Ever since he had argued with Professor Liang, he had began to dream.
In his dream, he was marching alongside a grand army. As the bugles sounded out and the war drums beat, the ear-splitting sounds of battle filled the air. Men screamed and horses hissed; the stench of death hung over, thick. All this took place alongside a large river, of which he didn’t know the name of. It seemed to stretch on for eternity, its waters unceasing and uncaring.
He had visited Zhongwei before and seen all nine bends of the Yellow River. He had travelled to Wuhan, where he had marvelled at the torrential currents of the Yangtze. But the river in front of him was unfamiliar.
Across the river stood a man in a black robe, who was serenely watching the carnage. Xuan Cheng squinted, trying to see the person clearly, although no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make out the other person’s features, except for a pale face and long black hair similar to his own.
A low voice resounded by his ear, as if it was coming from that pale-faced man: “I’ve waited for you. I’ve always waited for you.”
Over the broken walls of the fallen city, the man stood in front of the setting sun, his black figure a distinct shape against the sky. “I told you, I will wait at the banks of the river for your return.”
Xuan Cheng woke up, drenched in cold sweat.
There was a nagging feeling that he had left something important behind. His heart almost seemed to ache at the thought, painfully thumping across his chest.
He thumbed through all of the ancient history books, searching for the river that had appeared in his dreams. Finally, after searching for a while, he found a book claiming to detail the most defining riverside battle of Chinese history — the Battle of the Fei River.
It was just that there were too many battles that took place near rivers. He was fond of the Northern and Southern dynastic skirmishes by the Yangtze, and even moreso of the tumultuous Sixteen Kingdoms battles in the Yellow River Valley. However, after examining more about the conflict in the Fei River, which had unified together Northern and Southern regions of China, he realized that if the Duke of Yangping hadn’t met such an unfortunate demise early on, then that battle really could have completely changed the structure of the North and South, and the Former Qin kingdom would have become the second Qin Dynasty.
He asked Professor Liang for more explanation on the topic. The professor explained that though Former Qin didn’t have the resources to expand southward, if they had only waited a few years for Eastern Jin to collapse, the situation might have turned out much differently.
Xuan Cheng asked, “Are you saying then that if the Duke of Yangping had prevented Fu Jian from issuing the order to allow the Eastern Jin troops to cross the Fei River, then everything could have changed?”
Liang Ren gave a bitter smile. “History doesn’t start over like that, nor can it be explained. Furthermore, Former Qin never had the military might to unify all of China either.”
Xuan Cheng retaliated by asking, “But at the time the North was much stronger than the South. Why wouldn’t it have been able to unify?”
Liang Ren responded, “The reason why Former Qin was unable to annex Eastern Jin in one swoop was because of unresolved ethnic issues and cultural differences. At that time Eastern Jin possessed a more orthodox Chinese culture, which is why Former Qin was doomed from the start.”
Xuan Cheng’s mouth curled up. “Aren’t you still essentially saying that it was because the Former Qin king refused to listen to the Duke of Yangping’s words?” He paused. “I saw a post on an online forum once that said if the crown prince at the time wasn’t his son Fu Hong, but rather the Duke of Yangping, then Former Qin would have been capable of uniting the whole of China.”
Liang Ren’s face looked almost green. “The internet is filled with all kinds of poison. There’s isn’t any shortage of bad people on there, either. What you’re believing right now is absolutely nonsense! You’re attributing all the factors here solely on human nature, which completely goes against materialism.”
Xuan Cheng suddenly wore a blank expression, lowering his head in thought. After a while he raised his eyes again, staring straight at Liang Ren. “Professor Liang, as long as I can prove that my topic is tenable, then you have to give me the chance to write an outstanding graduation paper!”
Liang Ren laughed, his stark white teeth gleaming in the light. “Why would I stop an outstanding paper from being written? As long as you can prove that this wisdom over nature argument of yours holds water, then I won’t be surprised if the entire history community is shaken by its roots.”
In the middle of the night, Xuan Cheng stood by the little river near the university. His eyes seemed to stare into s.p.a.ce as the wind gently blew against his hair and clothes.
Who are you?
Where are you?
Are you still waiting for me at that river? I will return to that place.
The thoughts ran through his head, sincere from his heart.
Afterwards, he quietly lay against his bed, thinking to himself, I will find the relevant historical facts. I will prove that human wisdom can conquer over our nature.
Pig Head closed the lights. With the sound of the wind rustling and moonlight spilling onto his bed, Xuan Cheng found himself unable to sleep. Or rather, he couldn’t sleep — he was both afraid and expectant towards that strange dream that lay ahead. Eventually, it became a battle between his willpower and his body’s demands.
“I’ve waited for you. I’ve always waited for you.”
“I told you, I will wait at the banks of the river for you return.”
That familiar voice returned to beside his ears. It felt like a thousand years was disintegrating into a second of time, his consciousness degenerating into a small pool of darkness. His body resisted the shroud of sleep that covered him, though he could see dark storm clouds covering the sky, and then suddenly he was surrounded with the screams of men and horses, the sound threatening to engulf him.
“Pig head!”
“Little Yellow!”
“Radish!”
He heard his helpless voice resound for a long moment, before there was silence again.
—
A dream of a thousand years, as if our first meeting.